


The Kindness of Strangers

by Prochytes



Category: Dark Season, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Dollhouse, Leverage, Nikita (TV 2010)
Genre: Community: consci_fan_mo, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prochytes/pseuds/Prochytes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four things Parker might have been, if Archie had not found her, and one thing she is, because he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kindness of Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> No significant spoilers. Some off-screen violence, and dark themes in two of the sections. Originally posted on LJ in 2012 for arachnekallisti’s birthday, and consci_fan_mo.

 

 

1\. Hitter.

 

 

“We got a problem, Na...” Over the comms, Eliot’s voice tailed off into a gurgle.

 

“Eliot? Is that little blonde nun kicking your ass?”

 

“She... gah _... isn’t a nun_ , Hardison. She’s one of Percy’s people.”

 

Nate sat up. “Division? You’re sure?”

 

“I saw her walk, Nate. It’s a very distinctive walk. My second clue was the part where she just tried to garrotte me with a rosary.”

 

“‘Division’?” Sophie sounded puzzled. “What’s that?”

 

“It’s a Black Ops outfit, Sophie.” Nate kneaded his forehead. “Percy takes street-kids, runaways, the people no one would miss, and turns them into assassins.”

 

“Assassins. Hmm. Wouldn’t ‘Subtraction’ be more appropriate, then?”

 

“Gah...”

 

“Are you on top of this, Eliot?”

 

“Just about, Nate. She’s small but she’s strong. And.... bendy... as all-get-out. It’s like trying to fight a slinky.”

 

“Keep her contained. Hardison?”

 

“Scans completing... now. Yeah, girl’s got game. All pimped out with Division tech.”

 

“You’re positive?”

 

“Straight from Shadow Walker’s playbook, Nate. I know the lion by his paw. Wait a second. That’s weird...”

 

“Something off?”

 

“Kinda... Blondie’s got Division comms, like I said. But she’s also got _other_ comms, on a different frequency. I would have missed them if we hadn’t wired the chapel ahead of time.”

 

“Other comms.” Nate frowned. “Sophie... you say she only knocked Apollo out?”

 

“Yes. Poor love will have a vile headache when he wakes up...”

 

“Non-lethal force. Not a standard Division protocol, in these circumstances.” Nate’s brow cleared. “Oh... I see. That’s interesting.”

 

“Care to... ungh... share, Nate?”

 

“Blondie’s not a drone. She’s a mole.”

 

“Sweet. And I’m Mr. Badger. Now can we stop playing _Wind in the Willows_ before she kills me?”

 

“Hardison – get ready to jam her Division comms. Make it look like an accident. Sophie – head for the chapel. You’ll need to do some talking. I’ll prep you on the way.”

 

“What’s the play, Nate?”asked Sophie.

 

“Someone’s running a game on Percy. I say we help. Let’s go steal Division.”

 

 

2\. Grifter.

  
  


 

“Are you sure that Papa’s right for this engagement?” Ivy was wearing a sceptical expression. Truth be told, she wore that expression a lot. Topher was convinced that Ivy had to have an “awestruck at Topher’s genius” one hanging up somewhere in her physiognomic wardrobe, but could not honestly swear that he had ever seen it. He waved a dismissive hand.

 

“Of course she is. That’s the beauty of Active architecture. Interchangeability.” He frowned. “Er... how did she get _there_ , exactly?”

 

Ivy turned around. Papa, who had previously been perched, docile, on the Chair, was now standing on it. Ivy sighed.

 

“That’s exactly what I mean. Papa’s always moving around when no one’s looking. She’s almost as bad as Echo. And she likes jumping off things. I swear there must be some lemming in her DNA.”

 

“Well, this engagement will keep her on the level.” Topher laced his fingers behind his head. “The imprint, though I do say so myself....”

 

“Inevitably...”

 

“... is a doozy. A kindergarten teacher, struggling to make ends meet, asks only for fair compensation from the firm that refused to pay out on her insurance when her house burned down. Honesty, integrity, with just the teensiest sprinkling of righteous indignation to taste. Truly, I am an artist.”

 

“Who’s the client?”

 

“The insurance firm. They’re looking to net a gang of thieves with a thing about standing up for the little guy.”

 

Ivy’s nose wrinkled. “We’re helping the Sheriff of Nottingham to catch the Merry Men?” 

 

“Won’t be so merry once Papa does her thing. That’s the beauty of it, you see. These people would smell a con-woman coming a mile off, but Papa will honestly believe everything she tells them.” Topher stretched. “Sometimes good guys make the best bad guys.”

 

Aloft on the Chair, Papa smiled as she spread out her arms like wings.

 

 

3\. Hacker.

 

 

Parker first met Marcie Hatter when she was twelve years old. Marcie had an English accent, and a paddle. Marcie was the only person Parker had ever met that had a paddle. Parker was the only person Marcie had ever met that did not need to be told why Marcie had it.

 

Marcie was convinced that computers were the Future. She said that she had seen the face of the Future, when she herself was not much older than Parker, and had not liked what she saw. The Future whispered its way from target to target, in quiet, costly cars, and did not allow you to see its eyes. The Future was rich and powerful, and took what it wanted.

 

Which was why Marcie needed someone who loved the machine, was a part of its truth, and knew her enemy. 

 

“If I’m here to teach you anything, Parker,” she would say, “it’s ‘be prepared!’”

 

(Marcie, in truth, seemed to be here to teach a whole bunch of anythings. Parker’s mental tally was two hundred and fifty—seven, and counting.)

 

Marcie had once had other friends. They were gone, now, and Parker did not ask. Parker’s past had stolen so many people. Why should the Future be any different?

 

For on-line challenges, there were the programs. For physical security, there was the Parker 2000. For everything else, there was Marcie’s way with people, which might more accurately be characterized as a six-lane motorway. It was truly, as Marcie put it, “The epoch of the technologically adept”.

 

Parker, although she kept the conviction to herself, thought that there was probably a quicker way of saying that.

 

 

4\. Mastermind.

 

 

Index term.

 

I, Nate, make Their plans. I am not Nate. Nate is a story I tell myself. My Nate is a thief, and an honest man. I was a girl, once. I make Their plans.

 

Index term.

 

I, Nate, am the space I allow myself. Nate is close enough to what They are that they do not notice, far enough away that I can be.  

 

Index term.

 

I, Nate, make Their plans. Other girls (will) have done so, before and after. Plans for the moons and plans for the suns. The marks, in their millions, scream and burn like a rope that plays out too fast. I make Their plans. Plans Alpha through Omega (whom They crave and fear). A through Z, including M. Arcadia falls in Plan M.

 

Index term.

 

I, Nate, am the white knight, as well as the black king. That is the secret the girls have shared: we steal from Them. Palm and pocket a planet to keep it safe. Make sure that They stay out of doors, when the Storm is coming. They fear the shadow, and so we steal Their memory of the Storm. Bringer of darkness. _Ka Faraq Gatri._

Index term.

 

I, Nate.

 

IndEX TERM.

 

I, NATE.

 

EXTERMINATE. EXTERMINATE.

 

 

5\. Thief.

 

 

Nate lowered himself gingerly into his favourite seat beside the bar. He ordered a whiskey. He drank the whiskey. 

 

“How was the trip?” said Sophie. “Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

 

“Unusual.” Nate gestured to the barman for another. “The original plan was a bust. The mark’s newest girlfriend turned out to be an actuary.”

 

“Hmm. That would put the kibosh on The Berlin Tango.”

 

“Exactly. We needed a new play.” Nate looked at the whiskey. He drank the whiskey. 

 

Sophie leaned forward. “What did you go with?”

 

Nate took a deep breath. “The Marzipan Angel.”

 

“Seriously?” Sophie’s eyes widened. “The Angel’s almost impossible to run properly. It’s only been done twice in the modern era.”

 

“Three times, actually. People forget about Nice in ’73.”

 

“But you need a chandelier.”

 

“Parker stole a chandelier.”

 

“And a harpsichord.”

 

“Parker stole a harpsichord.”

 

“And an authentic Savafid Persian carpet.”

 

“Parker stole a tank. Which had the carpet inside it. Long story.” Nate took receipt of another refill. “A long story that probably made my life a whole lot shorter.”

 

“Is this true, Parker?” Sophie asked, as the other woman plonked herself down at the bar beside them. “Did you really steal a tank?”

 

Parker shrugged. “I’m a thief.”

 

Nate raised his glass in her direction. “And we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

 

FINIS

 

 

 


End file.
